


Contaminated

by marmolita



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Id Fic, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Sexual Fantasy, Shame, decon chamber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/pseuds/marmolita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip gets dosed with sex pollen and fantasizes about having sex with everyone in various configurations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contaminated

**Author's Note:**

> Set mid-season 1. Warnings: dubcon of the sex pollen variety; BDSM involving shame, restraints, and denial of orgasm. Written entirely to satisfy my need for porn about Trip being tied up and humiliated.

It has been one hour since Trip got a face full of pollen while trying to collect a sample of an interesting-looking flower. The flower is now safely in a containment box Malcolm is stowing in the back of the shuttlepod, but he's pretty sure his current state is a result of inhaling the pollen.

He tries to act like everything is okay, but Trip is so turned on he can hardly breathe. He's already tried everything he can think of to try to convince his raging hard-on to go away: reciting warp core specifications in his head, running every diagnostic he can think of, pinching his own arm hard enough that the pain might distract him. His body is just not cooperating, and everything makes him think of sex. Trip tries to hold still but he knows he's shifting around excessively in his seat. He glances up at the sound of T'Pol sniffing the air.

"Control yourself, Mr. Tucker," T'Pol says quietly, with a pointed glance at the bulge in his crotch. Trip looks away from her but he can't stop the intrusive images in his head. He imagines himself kneeling, naked and bound, at T'Pol's feet. A collar around his neck is attached to the rope tying his hands and feet together, and he is begging her to touch him, to let him touch himself, anything to relieve the aching hardness between his legs. The image is so vivid he can almost feel the bite of the leather pulling at his throat. He imagines her fully clothed and looking at him with disgust, her voice dispassionate as she says, "Control yourself, Mr. Tucker."

Trip blinks and catches himself with his hand most of the way up his thigh. He forces his hand back down on the console and swallows hard, trying to clear the image from his mind. He's sweating now -- he can feel it trickling down his back under his uniform. The shuttlepod feels too close and stuffy, his uniform too scratchy and constricting. Trip hears a rasping sound and realizes it's the sound of his own breathing, shallow and fast. He tightens his grip on the console and tries to think about something, anything, that is not sex.

"Are you alright, Commander?" Malcolm asks, resting a hand on Trip's shoulder. Trip startles at the touch, dizzy for a moment as more blood rushes down to his aching cock. He swallows again and clears his throat before replying.

"I think I'm having some kind of reaction to that pollen." He thinks his voice sounds steady, but he can't be sure. "It feels awfully hot in here."

Malcolm puts a hand on Trip's forehead to check his temperature and Trip only barely resists leaning forward into the touch. He wants to suck Malcolm's fingers into his mouth, wants to see Malcolm's face react to the swirl of his tongue, wants to go down on Malcolm and watch him slowly lose every shred of control. Trip realizes Malcolm is trying to say something to him and feels his own control slipping away.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said you're a little warm. We should get you to sickbay as soon as we're back."

"I hardly think a typical human lack of control over sexual desires qualifies as a medical emergency," T'Pol says, and Trip clenches his teeth in anger.

"What do you--oh. Oh," says Malcolm, and Trip is not looking at him, does not want to look at him, doesn't want to see disgust in his friend's face.

"This is _not_ natural," he grits out between clenched teeth. "It has to be a reaction to the pollen."

"Sit tight, Commander, we've got the flower so Dr. Phlox can examine it while you're in decon." Trip is grateful to Malcolm for believing him, but his gut clenches at the reminder that he still has to go to decon, and won't be able to get back to his quarters for privacy until Phlox has decided all the pollen has been cleared off his skin. Christ, he probably has to rub decon gel all over himself, and how is he supposed to do that without giving in to the impulse to jerk off right there in decon with monitors everywhere? The only good thing is that Malcolm and T'Pol weren't exposed to the pollen, so he won't have to sit in his underwear with Malcolm and T'Pol in their underwear and try to pretend he's not imagining burying his face between T'Pol's legs while Malcolm licks and fingers his asshole in the tiny decon chamber. Phlox would be watching on the monitors, and wouldn't he just love that opportunity to study human mating behavior? The thought of being watched makes Trip's cock impossibly harder and he bites his lips to try to focus. Would Archer be watching too? Trip can imagine Archer trying to resist at first, reaching out to turn off the monitor but hesitating with his hand on the dial, his cheeks growing flush and his pants getting tight. He tries to blink away the image but he can't stop thinking about it, about getting rimmed by Malcolm with his mouth full of T'Pol while Archer watches and rubs himself through his uniform, and fuck, _fuck_ , Trip is coming in his pants like a teenager without even touching himself.

For the briefest moment, he thinks maybe this is all over now. Humiliating, degrading, but over. He tries to take deep breaths and relax, but somehow his cock is getting hard again barely a minute after coming. His pants are a mess and he can't look Malcolm or T'Pol in the eye and it's _not over_ , and Trip considers the possibility this could go on for hours, for days, and he manages to concentrate enough to boost their speed so they can get back to Enterprise sooner and maybe Phlox can give him some kind of cure.

By the time they dock, Trip doesn't even want to stand up. There is a stain on the front of his pants, he still has a raging erection, and for the rest of the ride Malcolm had been sneaking curious glances at him and T'Pol had continued to wrinkle her nose at his offensive odor. His concentration is shot and he doesn't really register the conversations going on as T'Pol informs the doctor of the problem and he shuffles behind them off the shuttlepod, trying and failing not to stare at T'Pol's ass. He thinks he sees Malcolm placing the container with the flower into the airlock to be passed into sickbay, but his fantasy is coming back in full force as he enters the decon chamber.

"Commander Tucker, your clothes please," Phlox's voice says over the intercom, and Trip realizes he's been standing alone in the chamber staring at the wall, his mind full of thoughts of T'Pol rubbing decon gel all over him, or rubbing decon gel on her breasts, on her thighs, on her-- He starts to unzip his uniform and has to catch himself with a hand on the wall, suddenly unsteady on his feet. Trip has been carefully avoiding touching anything, trying to avoid reigniting the fire in his nerve endings, but now he has to touch himself to take off his clothes. He can't help gasping when he pulls his pants down over his hips, feeling every inch of the fabric sliding over his ass. He puts his clothes into the airlock and sits down on the bench, resting his head in his hands and trying not to stare at the stain on his underwear or his bulging erection underneath.

"I'm afraid this may take some time," Phlox says over the intercom. "You will need to apply the gel at least to your face, neck, and arms, but I recommend removing the rest of your clothes and applying it everywhere. I will of course get to work right away on identifying the relevant compounds of the pollen, but in the meantime I advise you to engage in masturbation to relieve your symptoms."

Trip snorts back a laugh. How much more ridiculous could this situation get? Phlox is literally telling him to strip naked and jerk off in the decon chamber with decon gel for lubricant. This is not how he imagined his deep space mission. "Doc, I know you're still learning about humans, but that is not something we do when other people are watching, so can you at least turn off the video monitors?" Trip manages to say. "And hurry?"

"I'm afraid I have to keep the monitors on in case your condition becomes dangerous, but if you prefer I will only look if your vital signs go out of the acceptable range. Now get to work with that decon gel!" Trip rolls his eyes and grabs the gel off the shelf. If he's going to jerk off in decon, he might as well make the most of it. Besides, it's not like he hasn't fantasized about the decon chamber before; he's fairly certain everyone on board has.

He rubs the gel on his face and wipes it off with a towel first, then strips off his undershirt and underwear. The air feels cool on his crotch thanks to the residual moisture from his first orgasm. Trip grabs a handful of gel, thinks, _fuck it_ , and grabs a hold of his dick. It's only a few seconds until he's coming again, making a mess of the bench and the floor. It feels so good that he keeps stroking until he's hard again, braced with one hand behind him on the bench, head thrown back.

"Commander, please don't forget your neck and arms!" Phlox's voice says over the intercom and Trip startles in surprise, yanking his hand off his dick and practically jumping a foot in the air.

"I thought you weren't going to watch!" His cheeks are burning but he scoops more gel and starts slathering it on his arms and neck.

"Your heartrate accelerated quite dramatically, Commander. I was just checking in to make sure you were alright. Please, proceed."

Trip spreads the gel over his shoulders, down the outside of his arms and up the inside. The fever is building as he spreads gel down his chest, and the intrusive fantasies begin again. He imagines himself in his quarters, with Malcolm suddenly coming up behind him and grabbing him by the hips.

In his fantasy, Trip is still affected by the pollen, but Malcolm's attention is unexpected. "What are you--" he asks, and Malcolm says, "Giving you what you need." Malcolm is pressed against his back, rubbing his erection against Trip's ass, as he starts to jerk Trip slowly.

"Do you even know," Malcolm breathes in his ear, "how hot it is to see you struggle to keep control when you're so horny you're about to come in your pants? To know you're probably thinking about getting fucked?" Trip curses and his knees buckle, but Malcolm catches him and holds him up. "Were you thinking about fucking T'Pol or about me fucking you? Maybe both at the same time?" Trip is aware of a high-pitched sound coming out of his mouth but he can't do anything to stop it.

(In the decon chamber, Trip is jerking himself off again as his fantasy continues; the effects of the pollen have him feeling like he's on the edge constantly, but he tries to slow it down to make it better.)

Malcolm is maneuvering him further into the room, and when Trip stumbles this time Malcolm lets him fall to his knees. Trip licks his lips as he watches Malcolm undress. Before Malcolm can kick his pants off from around his ankles Trip finds himself grabbing Malcolm's hips and sucking his cock into his mouth. He feels like he's going to die if he doesn't have all of Malcolm _right now_ , he doesn't need to breathe, he doesn't need anything but this dick in his mouth and Malcolm's hands tightening in his hair. Malcolm is cursing and pulling Trip's head down lower, and if he chokes on it a little he doesn't mind -- in fact it just turns him on even more.

Trip presses his tongue against the vein on the underside of Malcolm's cock, and groans when Malcolm thrusts his hips involuntarily. "I knew you were easy but if I knew you were this much of a cock slut I would have made a move sooner," Malcolm says, and Trips cheeks burn with humiliation. (In the decon chamber, he lays back on the bench and reaches his other hand around to his balls, knowing that the video monitors are still running but no longer caring.) Malcolm pulls out of Trip's mouth and Trip leans forward, mouth open, trying to get him back. Instead Malcolm pushes Trip onto all fours and kneels down behind him, leaning over his back and reaching around to stroke Trip's cock. "Tell me what you were fantasizing about on the shuttlepod," he says, cradling Trip's balls with his free hand.

The sound of his gasping for breath is loud in Trip's ears, and he chokes out, "T'Pol tying me up." Malcolm's hand tightens a little and Trip thrusts into it. "Eating her out while you eat me out in the decon chamber. Archer watching on the video monitors."

"You're a kinky bastard," Malcolm says, dick twitching against Trip's ass. "There's at least one part of that we can do," and then Malcolm's hands are gone from his cock and balls and are on his ass instead, squeezing and spreading his cheeks. Trip's gut clenches in anticipation and then Malcolm's tongue is on him, hot and wet on his asshole, and Trip is coming for the third time, harder than before, so hard he nearly blacks out.

He's lying on his back in the decon chamber, desperately trying to catch his breath. After the first two orgasms, not much comes out with the third, and his balls are starting to ache. His wrist aches too, and when he finally is able to breathe again, he tries to clean himself up and apply the decon gel to his feet and legs. There is a slightly longer lull this time, but by the time he's finished wiping off the gel, his cock is half hard again. Trip groans in dismay. It's taking progressively more effort to get himself off each time, and he's tired and just wants this to be over, but until Phlox tells him otherwise he's stuck here. The heat is oppressive, between the typical heat of the chamber and the fever, and he just wants to take a shower.

He suddenly recalls Hoshi telling him about a resort she one stayed at where the showers were outdoors in private gardens, with the water coming straight out of a rock wall and flowing down along a streambed through the garden. He pictures her standing under a shower like that, naked, her arms slicking back her hair as rivulets of water run down her breasts and stomach. It would be hot there too, but the water would be cool, and her nipples would harden from the chill. Trip imagines her running her hands down her body, brushing over her nipples, reaching down between her legs to touch herself.

The fantasy changes: Trip is on his back with Hoshi riding him. She's wet and tight and he wants to reach out for her bouncing breasts but he can't quite reach. That's okay though because Travis is coming up behind her and doing it for him, pinching her nipples and kissing her neck, and god, Trip has noticed Travis's body before but he never really thought about it like this.

Hoshi leans down so that she's lying mostly flat on Trip (finally, he can reach her breasts), and she's looking over her shoulder at Travis, whose hands are on her ass. Then Travis is sliding his dick into Hoshi's ass, and Trip can feel it from the other side, and fuck if it isn't the hottest thing he's ever imagined.

The position is awkward though and so the fantasy changes again -- this time Trip is on his hands and knees and Travis is fucking his ass. (In the decon chamber, Trip lubes up both of his hands with gel and lies back on the bench, hiking his legs into the air. He sucks in a sharp breath when he presses a finger in, jerking himself with his other hand. It's not enough though, not nearly what he wants, not nearly like--) 

Travis's cock feels so good inside him and Trip pushes back to meet every thrust. He wants to stroke his own dick but Travis is fucking him so hard he needs both hands to hold himself steady. Trip can feel Travis getting harder and bigger inside him, his balls drawing up, and then Travis is pulling out and coming all over Trip's back and ass, dripping down between his cheeks and trickling over his balls.

Someone is grabbing Trip's hands and forcing his face down into the carpet. His hands are pulled behind him and tied, and then T'Pol is behind him, holding him down with a hand on his back while she enters him with a strap-on. (Trip stretches his ass to accommodate three fingers, wishing he could reach deeper, stroking his cock faster even though it's aching from overstimulation.) T'Pol fucks him relentlessly, the carpet scratching his face and chest on every thrust. His shoulders are stretched uncomfortably but the binding on his wrists is tight enough that Trip can't really move.

There are sounds coming out of his mouth that don't sound like him, don't even sound human. He wants to come so badly but can't quite make it there, and he knows he won't until T'Pol lets him. "Please," he pants, struggling to get enough air to form words.

"Please what, Commander?" T'Pol asks, voice as dispassionate as ever.

"Please just l--" He gulps in air as she keeps slamming into him. "Please let me come." He tries to crane his neck a little further to look over his shoulder at her, and sees that she is looking to someone else for instruction. She must see what she needs because she sits back on her heels, pulling Trip up into her lap with one arm across his chest. Trip is so close; T'Pol isn't moving anymore but he can feel her breasts against his upper arms and his back and he jerks his hips, fucking himself on the dildo. His head is thrown back and his eyes half closed but he sees someone in uniform come to stand before him.

Archer crouches down in front of him and says, "All right Trip, you can come now." He curls his hand around Trip's cock and that's enough, Trip is exploding, his body is coming apart at the seams so completely there may not be any way to put him back together again. His orgasm seems to last for hours, emptying his entire body, leaving him hollow and unconscious.

***

Trip wakes up slowly. He's not in the decon chamber; there is a blanket over him and the soft hum of medical instruments surrounding him. The fire in his veins is gone and he realizes Phlox must have moved him to sickbay. His cheeks burn with shame -- did Phlox watch him in the depths of his depravity? Did he need help to get Trip out of the chamber and carry him here? Who cleaned up the mess? How long was he out?

How is he going to face his colleagues?

The door opens and Archer and Phlox come in. "Ah, Commander, feeling better I hope?" Phlox says, checking the readings on his instruments.

Trip clears his throat. "Fine," he replies. "A little tired." He has questions, but he can't bring himself to ask them, and can't manage to look Archer in the eye.

"I should think so," Phlox says. "That was quite an exertion; you nearly went into cardiac arrest. It's a good thing I developed a treatment before it could get any worse." Trip's cheeks burn harder, and he startles when Archer puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Get some rest," he says. "It may not seem like it now, but you'll laugh about this later. Just like the time you got pregnant, right?"

Trip groans. As Archer and Phlox leave, he mutters under his breath, "I'm sure you're all laughing about it right now."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to jyorraku and hotdadsgoodshoes for beta!


End file.
